


In Wonderland

by Gypsymoon77



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe, Mental Breakdown, Mental Institutions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 15:11:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2155182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gypsymoon77/pseuds/Gypsymoon77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following a nervous breakdown, the reknown scientist, Carlos, has been sent to a retreat which is a thinly disguised mental health institute to recover.  He has been making up the town of Night Vale to cope – a place where he could be a hero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Wonderland

Carlos sat slumped over the table in his room. He chewed on his bottom lip as he wrote out the words in thick lines, digging in with the ballpoint pen until it almost ripped through the paper.

THERE IS NO SMILING GOD.

He sat back, feeling satisfied. Underneath the words were various doodles, each drawn in heavy lines. A five headed dragon. A cat with wicked looking spines growing out of its back that seemed to be hovering in mid-air. A woman with no face.

' _You're sick, Carlos_ ,” he thought to himself. A normal person, a scientist of his caliber, wouldn't be sitting here drawing disturbing images in a tattered sketchbook. He shoved the book away from himself in disgust, running his fingers through his thick curls.

How long had he been here at Desert Bluff's Wellness Retreat? He snorted derisively. They may call themselves a wellness retreat dedicated to the furthering of the creative, emotional, mental and physical balance of their guests, but Carlos knew it was all just fancy lingo for a mental institution. The rooms might be fresh, bright and cozy and there were classes for yoga, underwater gymnastics and finding your inner goddess, but really it was just a psych ward for rich people. For professionals who were burnt out and could no longer face reality. People who had had mental breakdowns. At national conferences. In front of all of their friends and colleagues. People like him.

He sighed and pulled the sketchbook back to him, picking up his pen and continuing to doodle. He had picked this up from the “artistic journaling” class led by a surly young intern named Maureen. Now he drew a stylized version of her, wearing a lanyard with an ID card proclaiming “NVCR”. He smiled as he drew in her scowl. On the opposite page he had already drawn the other intern at the Wellness Center. He liked her. Under her picture he had written the caption “Dana Cardinal, Mayor of Night Vale.”

Night Vale, a place where science just didn’t work. Where all the laws and theories couldn't fail you because they simply did not exist. And that was okay, and no one blamed you for all the failed experiments and losing the grants and the university doesn't shut down your laboratory and you don't stand in front of every person you have ever tried to impress and are exposed for the failure that you are....

_For a moment he can feel the blast of desert heat as he steps outside, his team chattering away as they head next door to Rico's. It's Wednesday. They always eat at Rico's on Wednesday. There weren't as many Hooded Figures lurking around the restaurant on Wednesday..._

Carlos took a deep breath, his shaking hand splattering ink across the face of Intern Maureen. He turned and glanced out the window that faced out into the open courtyard, trying to calm his racing thoughts. One of the nurses, something Carlsburg, was calmly trying to explain to Mr. Vansteen, a local millionaire, that public nudity was not an acceptable form of artistic expression. Again.

Carlos chuckled to himself as he watched Vansteen take off running, the haggard nurse chasing after him, begging him to put his robe back on. There was a knock on the open door to his room, and the young scientist turned to see Dr. Cecil G. Palmer standing there.

“Got a minute to talk, Carlos?” he asked amiably, politely waiting to be invited in.

Dr. Palmer was well-known in the field of modern psychology for his work with “creative types” and the unique stressors they seemed to face. Many of his articles suggested a link between increased creativity and mental disturbances such as depression and anxiety. Yet no one here referred to him as a shrink. He insisted that he was simply a facilitator, helping his guest re-find their synergistic balance during times of stress.

Carlos thought he was a quack. But a nice one.

“Come on in, doctor,” Carlos replied, his voice clipped in its formality. He tried to sound like a sane, normal man. Not someone who was struggling with separating fantasy from reality.

Cecil walking in and casually perched on the corner of the armchair. He glanced over at Carlos's notebook, his eyes flickering over the sketches.

“Ah, Night Vale, again?”

Though his voice didn't hold any judgment, Carlos immediately felt defensive. He nervously ran his hands over the drawings, smudging a few of the newer ones. He and Dr. Palmer had spoken many times about Night Vale, about Carlos's need to make a place to escape from the mistakes he had made.

“What would I be there?” asked Dr. Palmer, tilting his head to the side. This had always been the doctor's approach. Curious inquiries, never all out assaults.

Carlos thought for a moment. “The community radio host. Because you have a nice voice,” he postulated. Dr. Palmer's lips turned upward minutely at the compliment.

 _'And we would be lovers and you would think I'm perfect_ ,' Carlos added in his head. He swallowed nervously, and went back to adding more details to Intern Maureen.

“Your Night Vale sounds neat...”

Carlos looked up from the sketch covered paper in front of him. The doctor shifted in his chair and laughed self-consciously.

“Sorry, that sounded lame, didn't it? But really, I think I would like to visit this friendly little desert community of yours...”

Carlos protectively pulled the paper closer to his body, using his arm to partially cover the drawings. This was his world and he didn't want to share it. He felt his heart rate begin to climb and he was worried in a few minutes he would have a full on panic attack.

Dr. Palmer seemed to sense this. He leaned forward and placed his hand reassuringly on Carlos's forearm.

“Don't worry, Carlos. I'm going to help you forget all about Night Vale so you can get better and go back to being the scientist you once were. You won't need it to feel safe anymore.”

For one brief, dizzying moment, Carlos had the undeniable feeling that something was horribly wrong. That Cecil wasn't Cecil after all. It was his eyes.

_Oh, God, his eyes..._

But the moment passed and instantly faded from Carlos' mind. Dr. Cecil G. Palmer was sitting across from him, with perfectly normal, blue eyes.

Carlos would get better. He would leave the town of Night Vale behind where it belonged – in his mind.

“I know you will. Thank you,” he said with deep sincerity.

And the doctor smiled.

 


End file.
